Forget Me Not
by Latyon
Summary: The death of his father leaves a man the responsibility of caring for an old farm. But within appropriately named Forget-Me-Not Valley, this man finds that his past actions have a way of coming back for him. Rated T for minor sexual content and language.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. Though that would be pretty cool. I'd certainly have more money that way.

Author Note: Well, I've decided to begin a Harvest Moon fanfic. For those fans of my Oblivion, Pokémon, or Star Fox work, you know what to expect when it comes to my style of writing. Yeah, I know I haven't updated them in a while. It happens.

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Prologue - Mistaken

He was still unsure what to expect from her. Since they met, very recently, she had always been a little something to him, a little nagging something in the back of his mind, ever-present, and he was never sure if what he felt for her was love or hate. He straddled the thin line between the two opposite ends of the intimacy spectrum as he ran his fingers through her silky blonde hair and stepped forward a bit, sending her tumbling to the sheets. Their locked lips split for a mere moment as he climbed onto the bed after her, discarding his shirt as though it were a disgusting abomination to his powerful body. She put her hands on the sides of his head and pulled him in close, kissing him with such vigor that he couldn't help but fight back, being the competitive type. He grabbed her by the wrists and slammed them to the mattress beside her.

What was it about this one that made her so special? He hardly knew her. In fact, it had been only a week before that he had met her for the first time, an accidental acquaintance in the city while wandering from an afternoon meal to his home in an apartment building in a less-than-ideal neighborhood. She had bumped into him most literally when coming around a corner, and as she tried to apologize had stumbled with her words and found herself grasping at the empty air for a finisher to her sentence. He had provided one, as casually and neutrally as he could, and that was that. It was an accident, plain and simple, something to be disregarded completely, and forgotten within the next moment as more pressing life issues emerged on the horizon. He continued walking home that day, and when confronted the next morning at the bus stop, he truly did not remember her face.

She introduced herself to him then, and they got on the bus together, and he rode it halfway to her stop before getting off. After all, he was late for a meeting, and though he appreciated the company felt nothing for this woman, attractive as she may have been. And she had taken obvious interest in him, though he couldn't place why. His personality wasn't much to praise. In fact, though he had what he considered to be the ideal mindset, he knew that many others would see him as a cold, brutal, heartless fiend because he chose not to allow emotion to interfere with reason. If something were hindering a process, you would remove that something and everything else flows much more smoothly. Would he give up his mother to advance his own interests? Perhaps.

After releasing her arms, he felt her small, delicate fingers tracing along the contours of his built torso, making their slow, sure way down to his belt buckle, where she spent a few seconds undoing the device before ripping it from the loops where it had held up the man's slacks. She tossed the leather belt to the side, where she thought he had thrown his shirt. It didn't matter; it would all be there later should he need it. He flattened his lower body against hers and started a slight, gyrating side-to-side movement that he pressed against her with increasing force.

And after a few days, he had seen her again, in a bar where some drunken hoodlum who wouldn't stop complaining about his impacted tooth was harassing her. He sat down on a stool next to the hoodlum and eventually decided that he'd had enough of his annoying, slurred nitpicks and promptly fixed his dental problem with a punch to the jaw. The woman thanked him and this time, he remembered her from before. She talked and talked to him, and he listened, and for once didn't find the stories people told him to be useless banter that he would discard as soon as it entered his mind. She ordered drink after drink, and while he was no stranger to the bizarre and often pleasant effects of alcohol, he could tell that she was going to need a way home. He refused the bartender's offers and acted as the woman's shield from the dangerous world that the city became at night, taking her home. She invited him in, but he declined, wanting her to sleep, knowing that her morning was going to be an unpleasant one.

A small moan escaped her parted lips as his kisses moved down her neck to her chest, and he kicked off his pants one leg at a time, now lying upon the woman in his boxers. He sat up for a second to take in the full splendor of the view her naked body provided him and returned to his work, having the satisfaction of seeing her eyes closed, her facial muscles tugging her mouth into the shapings of a wide, alluring smile.

And, of course, the cards of fate had again placed him next to her, this time at a late-night poker game where he sought to win enough money to pay his rent. She appeared with similar intentions, and if not for his excellent poker face she may very well have beaten him. She came out of the game with just enough to cover the cost of her apartment for another month, while he had emerged with a large surplus. He wanted to spend it on her, but couldn't figure out exactly why. Operating on instinct, which was against his nature, he took her out clubbing; something he had never done. By the end of the night she had fallen hard for him, while he still had only the slightest inkling of romantic intentions for her. But by the time she had brought him, against his will, to her room, he could feel something for her. Love, hate, lust, he did not know, but he knew that this woman would satisfy his carnal desires.

She whispered to him as he removed the final article of his clothing that she loved him. Without a hint of expression in his voice, he returned her profession, though he didn't mean it. It wasn't the first lie he had told her. In fact, almost everything he had said to her was a lie, from his occupation to his address to his phone number. Hell, he had even lied about his name. Who was the enigmatic journalist, Trent Lacroix? He didn't know, but it certainly wasn't him.

And as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Lying, bare, next to his love for the night, he caught his breath after the rough aerobic workout he had just endured. He could hear her panting for breath as well, but she was in the initial stages of a good night's sleep before he could say anything to her. He dressed silently in front of the window, adjusting his tie in the moonlight, though appearances were not his major concern when going home in the night. He took one last look at the blonde, no longer feeling anything for her. So, this was how it ended, a one-night stand with the attractive woman he knew very little about. He left her apartment, locking the door as he exited. As the sun rose the next day, she would find that he was gone, but his disappearance would not haunt her for quite a time.

He returned to his work, living his life one stoic day at a time. He would hear stories around the watercooler about problems at home, and silently lauded himself for never having been caught up in the problems that come with raising a family. He didn't need a wife or kids to be happy. He needed only himself, and that was all he had.

That is, until that fateful, shaky phone call from his aunt, who bawled and bawled and could not get a clear message through the static-filled receiver. In fact, it was only hours after the tear-filled notification that the man got a clear call from his uncle, an aging man whom lived a life free of emotion. With a deadpan voice, he told the man what he tried so hard to discern from his aunt earlier.

"Your dad's dead."

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Author Notes: What? This is a Harvest Moon fanfic? What the hell does this have anything to do with Harvest Moon? Patience, young readers, this is a prologue. I wanted to explain the backstory a bit before I jumped into Forget-Me-Not Valley, which I just noticed is a highly appropriate name for one of the central conflicts of this story. Reviews, please, especially if I've reviewed your stuff. I'd like reciprocation, please. Not forcing anything.


	2. Heir

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. If I did, I wouldn't have to write fanfics, because then it's my property anyway, and I could do what I wanted with it.

Author Note: And so begins Chapter 1. Chapter 1 is midway between the prologue and the actual journey to Forget-Me-Not.

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Chapter 1 – Heir

Looking upon his father now, the man realized just how decrepit and weak the recently deceased man had become. It had been years since their last communication, since any communication between the young man and his family. He had never been completely accepted by any of his relatives, aside from his mother, and once she had died the man tried to sever his connections with his intolerant family as quickly and efficiently as possible. And though he avoided emotion as much as possible, he couldn't help but feel an ever-so-slight pang of sorrow on the surface of his heart. According to his uncle, his father had died after a long battle with cancer. It was unfortunate, but only because now all his son could think about was that he now could be cancer-prone.

He turned to his right to leave the side of the casket and return to the back of the room, where he would observe his father's friends – shockingly, plenty of them – mourning for their loss. But before he could take a step, he noticed that a man with very bushy black eyebrows and deeply tanned skin had sidled up alongside him. He looked to be of Asian descent and walked with a slight hunch. His voice was deep and very gravelly, and his first words were a surprise to the son and anyone else close enough to hear.

"Are you Archer?"

The son glanced around at the nearby mourners, who had suddenly taken notice of him. The attention was something he had wished to avoid at this funeral, and though he did recognize a few of his relatives – cousins, and others who he could not be sure of his relation to – his appearance had changed drastically over the past years. His long, curly hair stretching down to the small of his back had been traded in very quickly after he started life in the city for a very short, straight style that was much more fitting of a man of his poise and career. It had darkened considerably, as well, formerly a near-platinum shade of blond and now the lightest shade of dark brown. Aside from his unchanging short beard, there was one feature that he could never change, and that was his icy, stern gaze, and these eyes were what betrayed him to the crowd. He returned his glance to the Asian man.

"I'm sorry?" he feigned. The Asian seemed to challenge his unforgiving expression with one of his very own. He was much older than the man he called Archer; probably around the same age as the corpse in the room. He asked again.

"Are you Archer? Archer Coleridge?"

"I'm sorry, sir, you must have me mistaken."

"How did you know the deceased?"

Thinking quick on his feet was something that he was very good at, as was lying. However, at this moment he couldn't come up with a logical reason why he would be here if he were not, in fact, Archer Coleridge. The Asian man shuffled impatiently, awaiting a response.

"I'm simply paying my respects to an old business partner," he said.

"You're lying," the Asian contested. When the man asked how he was so sure, he replied, "Because I'm his only business partner."

And without knowledge of the business that his father took part in, Archer's cover was blown. He simply smirked at the Asian and nodded at him, leaving the side of the casket and making his way for the door. He could tell that some of his relatives had been able to make the connection and had taken notice of him. Even with all of his aesthetic changes, his eyes still jogged memories everywhere. As he began walking through the solemn church hallway, he found that he was not alone. The Asian man had followed him.

"Mr. Coleridge, your father loved you very much," the Asian said, and Archer couldn't help but laugh out loud. He continued walking, refusing to look back at the obviously mentally ill man. His father had never loved him. He went as far as saying that he, in fact, hated his guts. He was a mistake and should never have been born, and if he had any say in the matter Archer would've just been a bloody string on the end of a coat hanger, swirling down the toilet to eventually be devoured by rats. "My name is Takakura. I was a good friend of your father's."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sardonically, not stopping. He would not stop until he was back in his car, away from all of his family members who had scorned him so in his childhood for his love of rock music and the arts. The Asian, Takakura, persisted, and even in his old age was able to keep up with the spry young man.

"Listen to me, Archer, your father left you everything in his will."

"How very kind of him."

"He told me before he died that he wanted me to find you. He wanted me to tell you that he was deeply sorry for every time he ever wronged you, and he knows that it hurt you."

"On the contrary, old man, it made me a much stronger person."

"And it was his dying wish to see you before he passed. But because he was not able to, I feel that it's my duty to make sure you get everything he wanted for you to have."

Archer still could not care less. He wanted out of this church and away from his family. He did not like any of them, or even this Takakura figure. Being here was taxing on his mind, and it was only a matter of time before he was forced to hurt someone. Since it was a church, he didn't want to have to resort to violence, but this man was testing his patience.

"He and I ran a farm together in Forget-Me-Not Valley. He left you his farmhouse and his share of the farm. And I would be very grateful if you were to accept your father's gift and apologies."

Archer turned around and grabbed the old man by the arm, swinging him up against the wall.

"Now, you listen to me, whatever-the-hell-your-name-is, and listen good. I do not want anything to do with my father. He scorned me, beat me, did unthinkable things to me while I was young. My childhood was destroyed, torn to shreds by that man. None of my peers had to put up with the shit that I went through. And you think that 'I'm sorry, son,' is gonna cut it? Especially from a rotting corpse? Fuck no, my friend, I will not accept his apologies. My only hope is that if I ever had a son, which I don't plan on, that he would never have to suffer the bullshit that that fucking disgrace of a human being put me through. Do you understand me?"

Hearing footsteps, Archer turned to see his cousin, walking by with a wife and child. His wife had very tight facial features, with thin eyebrows and a permanently condescending look on her face, and she walked by shaking her head and covering the young child's ears.

"And I don't want any of your second-grade attitude, Craig. Walk out of this fucking building right now before I have to hurt you."

"You can't talk to your cousin like that, Archer," his wife retaliated. He let Takakura go and advanced toward the insolent women. It was then that he realized that he had let his temper flare and was now out of control. As much as it pained him to do so, he waved the family through the front door, keeping a constant, violent eye on the wife as he did so. Oh, how he would like to murder that woman. But alas, he could not allow himself to go overboard. He had already had enough emotion to last him the entire season.

"Archer, please, listen."

"I'm listening," the man said, calmed down from the high-tension thrill ride his mind was put through because of the room in which he was forced to stand with old enemies. This man was not family, and should thus be treated with higher respect. He was Archer's elder, as well, and Archer firmly believed in respect for one's elders.

"I'm offering you a sound business opportunity. I don't know what your life is like here. You seem like a man of high social standing. I won't pressure you if you wish to continue living your life here in the city. But I implore you, for my sake and the sake of your father's legacy, please join me at the farm. It is your birthright. If you must, think of yourself as his heir."

"I'd rather not think of myself as having anything to do with him, if you don't mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got somewhere to be," Archer lied, and he left the church without another word to Takakura. He walked down the street and wandered through the city until dark, when he found himself back at his doorstep. He stripped down and went to bed, never stopping once to consider Takakura's offer.

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Author Notes: And so concludes Chapter 1. Archer has a lot of repressed feelings, you see. This is why you shouldn't bottle up anger. You end up unleashing it on poor Asian men in churches. The next chapter will take place a few years in the future. Takakura's farm is failing and he is forced to hire an incompetent fool to help him out, and Archer finds himself on the verge of bankruptcy due to his gambling habit and he loses his apartment. What to do? Review please, peeps. I do like the encouragement.


	3. Old What's His Name

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. In fact, there are a lot of things I don't own, and Harvest Moon is one of those things.

Author Note: No need for an author note here. Read on, homeslice. As I beat Microsoft Word for telling me that "homeslice" isn't a word.

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Chapter 2 – Old What's-His-Name

Archer heard the shattering of glass from the room on the floor above. These were sounds typical of the early evening, when Mrs. Corey-Ann Devison made dinner for her uptight, ass of a husband, Dorian. Archer counted down mentally - _three, two, one ­_– and grinned when his impeccable timing ended with the bellowing voice of the obese Devison patriarch chastising his wife from across the room. His thudding footsteps echoed overhead and the man downstairs held a hand over his head in case the sheetrock decided to start falling in again. He screamed about the broken plate, and she contested his loud complaints with the business end of a rolling pin. As he thudded away, he told her she would have to buy a new one before the week was out. Archer had broken many plates, but never felt the need to go out by the end of the week to replace them. This was probably just another one of Dorian's post-argument ego boosts, achieved when he forced his wife into submission and made her do trivial things to win back his love. Corey-Ann didn't care for his love anymore. She couldn't wait for the bastard to keel over. Archer heard her leave the room and slam the door, but she was followed quickly by the massive blob of human flesh and bone that formed her husband.

Happy that he finally had a little bit of peace and quiet, Archer continued reading a novel he had picked up at a bookstore that afternoon. It was all he could do, now that he had lost his job. His employers had discovered that he was stealing credit for the work of others and running a gambling circle within the office. Since gambling was illegal in the city, the boss had threatened to get the police involved, but luckily Archer had been able to weasel out of it. Unfortunately, he was no longer a part of the business. This was beginning to catch up to him as his bank accounts ran dry and he found himself unable to pay rent for the last two months.

When he heard two sets of footsteps approaching his front door, one light and quick and the other heavy and lethargic, he realized that this was the third month. The Devison's, his landlords, were on their way down.

"Archer, open the door! I need your rent!" said Mrs. Corey-Ann Devison, with her husband right behind her. If it were she alone, this wouldn't be a problem. She would give him time; it's just been so hard on him since he lost his job and his father. But with Dorian outside his room, Archer felt a rising feeling of dread coming up inside his chest, and though he knew that it was dumb to fear this situation, he couldn't help it.

It didn't help that he was completely broke. Even the book he had bought today was on borrowed funds.

"Coleridge, I want your rent!" Dorian screamed. He was pissed. It would've been most logical to get to the door as fast as possible so as to keep Dorian from waiting, though Archer could just as easily wait until the man's anger put him into cardiac arrest. How long could that take, really?

"One minute," he yelled out to them, but he wasn't sure what he could do in that minute to scrounge together rent money. Finally, he opened the door.

"Archer, I'm going to need your rent money from two months ago. Now, please."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Devison, I don't have your money,."

"You're sorry? You're gonna be sorry when I throw your ass out on the street, Coleridge!" Dorian threatened. Archer had nothing to respond with. Corey-Ann looked very reluctant to say what she was being pressured by her husband to say.

"Look, Archer, I apologize. I know it's hard to lose a family member-"

"That was three fucking years ago, Corey, he's just using it as an excuse!"

"Regardless, um…I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You've got until noon tomorrow to pack your bags. I'm really very sorry."

"Well, I'm not! You're still gonna pay us that money, son, every last bit of it! I'll hunt you down until I have it in my hand!"

"Jeez, Mrs. Devison, all this to pay for a broken dinner plate?"

"That's broken history right there, boy! That plate wasn't for eating, it came from an ancient civilization!"

"It came from your mother's china cabinet, Dorian," Corey-Ann corrected him.

"Shut up, bitch!" he shouted as he backhanded her across the face, his ring leaving an imprint in her cheek. Archer shut the door, feigning anger, and sat down at his chair. He had nowhere to go, and Corey-Ann knew it. By the time she went to sleep, she would have forgiven his debt again and let him stay. He hoped.

But as the sun rose the next morning and shone across his open eyes, he awoke to find the Devison's standing over him, and Dorian holding a baseball bat.

"Get out now. You don't have any intention of leaving without me kicking you out personally, so I'm doing it. Leave. None of this stuff is yours anyway, except your damned books over there. Take this bag and you've got thirty minutes before I come back swinging,"

"I could have the police up here before then."

"And I would tell them that you're three months overdue."

"Asshole."

"Cocksucker."

"Rot in hell."

"I'll see you there," he said, and the two left the room. So, they were serious this time. The bag was large enough to fit his novel collection, but there was absolutely nowhere he could go. He had no siblings to stay with, and his cousins were too far away and not to mention completely insolent. His mother was dead, and his father…

_Why didn't I think of this three months ago? _He asked himself. He quickly threw the books together and left the apartment building without being accosted by the rude, bumbling landlord. He would partially miss Corey-Ann. For all intents and purposes, she was a nice lady and had put up with Archer for far too long, and he thanked her for that. How would he get a hold of that Asian man…what was his name…from Forget-Me-Not Valley. He had heard of the place before, and supposed he could go there on his own, but he would need directions and the road there would probably be quite boring. But there was no one in this town he cared for enough to seek out a travel partner.

He turned to his right and looked at the end of the sidewalk, where he saw-

"Holy shit," was all he could say. There, standing at the end of the block, was the man from Forget-Me-Not Valley, old what's-his-name. His luck was absolute, as it had been when he gambled. He made his way to the corner before the lights could change and he would be allowed to walk across the street without being run down. He put his hand on the man's shoulder, remembering his huge eyebrows, and introduced himself.

"Hello, sir, my name is Archer Coleridge, you were my father's business partner."

It took a minute for the old man to realize who he was, because his mind was elsewhere, but when he did, he was glad to see the young son of his oldest, dearest friend, especially in a mood where he was not trying to attack him. It had only been a few years, but he definitely remembered the first impression Archer had left on him.

"Oh. Hello, Archer. It's been a while."

"Yes, it has. How's the farm?"

"Dismal. My new partner can't tell the difference between a radish and a turnip."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is business carrying on like usual?"

"Not since your father died. I think we might lose money this year, which has never happened before."

"Oh. Maybe you should fire your partner. That's what I would do."

"But I can't run the farm alone. If he goes, then the farm is dead."

"There are plenty of people out there looking for jobs. Why not hire one of them?"

"Because no one wants to help run a failing farm. No one is crazy enough to do that."

"What about me?"

He turned to Archer, stunned. "You?"

"Yes. Why not me?"

--

Author Notes: Yes, my readers, Archer will now be moving on to Forget-Me-Not Valley to help Takakura run the farm. Wondering what these first chapters were for? Background, mostly. It shows where Archer came from. Plus, I had fun writing it, and hopefully you enjoyed reading it. Not bad for a story completely conceived within a thirty minute period around 5 AM yesterday morning, huh? Reviews are always a nice thing to get. Think of the warm, fuzzy feeling you get when you see you have a new review. Nice, isn't it? Don't you want me to have that feeling?


	4. Warm Welcome

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. I'd like to, someday, but the chances of that are slim to none. I'd own it along with several of the world's landmarks and a very nice pair of sunglasses.

Author Note: Welcome to Chapter 3, folks! Whether this is the first time you've picked up my story or if you're a returning customer, I hope you enjoy what you're about to read.

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Chapter 3 – Warm Welcome

Takakura and Archer descended the path after passing through quaint Mineral Town. The latter got a few eyes from passersby, as though he were a familiar face to them. If Takakura wasn't lying, and there would be no reason for him to, this town was a frequent stopping place for him and Archer's father on the way to the city. Sometimes, they would sell their crops here because they could get better prices. He was introduced to a few of the townspeople, but none of them were important enough for him to remember. As it turned out, according to the old Asian man, they were staring because, as much as he might've wanted to deny it, he was the spitting image of his father at his age.

The slope was steep, but not so much that it was hard to maneuver down. A car would have a lot of trouble and would probably end up a messy wreck at the bottom of the hill, partially because of the sporadic plateaus and partially because the path was too narrow for a vehicle to come down. Perhaps a stunt motorcycle rider could get down there, but nothing short of that. The village was close by now, and off to his right Archer spotted a large farm. He inquired Takakura, asking if this was his farm, but he said no.

"That's Vesta's farm. She lives there with her little brother Marlin, and a girl named Celia. She's a worldly lass. Got her head in the right place. A little younger than you, actually. Vesta was a good friend of your father's. She wasn't happy when she'd heard that he passed,"

"Given my experience with the old man, I'd think otherwise," Archer commented. Takakura kept walking but shook his head.

"Everyone around here really liked your father."

"If that's the case, then I'm not sure I'll like anyone here."

"No sense getting sour on the first day, young man."

"Truest words you've spoken to me yet, old man."

They continued past Vesta's farm, but could not pass the small bridge over the creek before a heavyset redhead with a ponytail walked out onto the path from the farm and hollered for the two to stop and say hello.

"Hey, Tak, I thought you weren't coming back in town for another few days! Mr. Shepherd told me you left the farm in his hands for the rest of the week!" the woman said happily, with a sort of southern, motherly drawl. She seemed like a nice enough lady, who was unfortunately probably exposed to too much of Archer's father's "charm," in Archer's mind. He wondered what effect his father's influence would have had on her, but he didn't have time to complete any sort of image in his mind before he found the woman standing in front of him, looking him up and down.

"Now, who is this, Tak? Why, he looks just like-"

"My name's Archer, ma'am. Pleased to meet you."

"Now, come on, why don't you shake my hand? I'm not gonna bite you."

"It's not very gentlemanly to do so. A woman shouldn't have to touch a man if she doesn't want to."

"Well, screw the handshake, gimme a hug, boy! Welcome to Forget-Me-Not Valley!"

Before he could object, the woman had her arms wrapped around him and had him caught in a bear grip. He felt his lungs compress as the air was squeezed out, but he wasn't going to be completely discourteous and returned the hug before breaking away. While he wasn't a fan of surprise physical contact, especially hugs, this woman had something about her that made it perfectly fine. She reminded Archer of his mom, if his mom were a large southern woman who ran a farm. Her laugh, Archer could already tell, was infectious and would permeate his brain during every one of their conversations, should they ever speak again. He turned to look at the path and realized just how small the town was, and realized he would probably have to become fairly close friends with her sooner or later. Not only that, but she, too, ran a farm, and would probably have to help Archer out, since he knew little to nothing about farming.

"Tak, you aren't talking much, give me a hug!" she told him, and she hugged Takakura, though he didn't return her affection. She was a very cuddly person, it seemed. How cute.

"I knew from the moment I saw you, sonny, you're Asher's boy! You look just like him!"

"I wish you'd refrain from comparisons between me and him, ma'am, my relationship with him wasn't exactly one of the highlights of my life."

"Well, I'm sorry about that. We'll treat you right out here, though, don't you worry. Actually, you know what? Why don't you and Tak here come by the farm later for dinner? You can meet Celia and Marlin and we'll make sure you feel welcome here in the valley," Vesta offered. Archer glanced off to the side and saw two people emerge from within the small house on the farm. One was a man with dark hair, with no distinguishable features from this distance, and shortly after, a young girl. The one they called Celia, most likely.

"Thank you for your generous offer, Vesta, but we've got a lot of work we have to be doing."

"Nonsense, I insist! I wouldn't feel right if I didn't treat Asher's son here to my famous rice casserole and some pumpkin pie!"

Immediately, Archer's attention peaked. Rice casserole had been a longtime favorite of his, and something his mother had made very well. However, since she had passed, he had not had the pleasure of consuming the dish. If ever there was motivation for him to do something in this small town, this would be it, he decided. That, and pumpkin pie was a luxury reserved only for his father, back in his childhood. He had never been able to taste this forbidden fruit, but now, it was within his grasp.

And besides, when was the last time he had had dinner with anyone other than himself?

"You're very gracious, Missus Vesta."

"That's Miss Vesta, darling. I'm not married."

"Very well, Miss Vesta, we'll see you tonight at dinner. But first, I'd like to get settled into my new home, and I'm sure there are others here that Takakura wants me to meet before the sun goes down."

"Excellent, I'll get started on the food right away. We're eating good tonight!"

Vesta turned around and happily skittered back to her home. The two people in the fields glanced at each other, and then at Archer and Takakura, so far from them, and wondered what they had done to make Vesta so excited. As it stood, she was having a rough day and was having a deadening effect on the both of them.

"She seems like a nice woman. Maybe this place won't be so bad."

"That's a way of looking at it. But now I'm gonna have to explain to Shepherd what we're doing tonight."

"Who's Shepherd, anyway?"

"He's my partner now. Well, was. I'm firing him as soon as we get home."

"That bad, huh?"

"I told you about him before. Radish from a turnip."

"Oh, him. Well, good luck with that."

The two traveled closer to the river and began crossing the bridge when Takakura pointed up at a waterfall. On the right hand side at the bottom, Archer could see a small campsite area. A woman was walking around in khakis and looking at a sheet of paper.

"Carter and Flora live up there. They are archaeologists or paleontologists or one of those –ologists. They have a dig site up there. I'd take you over there if it wasn't such a detour."

"No trouble, Takakura," Archer replied. As they passed a smaller slope leading up onto a plateau of sorts on a hillside, Takakura changed his course and led his new partner up to their farm. The barn was the first thing that caught Archer's eye, and the field second, covered in grass that grew up to the top of the fence. He wasn't sure, but he felt that this was probably the field where the animals grazed. It didn't look like Takakura had any animals, if Archer were to guess.

"That's the barn. We've only got one cow, right now, and she's a bit bossy. She's got plenty of milk but only gives it when she wants to give it. Otherwise, you're gonna get a face-full-o'-foot. She likes to kick, and that's probably an understatement."

As if on cue, a blond man opened the barn door and walked out with an ice pack pressed against his left eye. When he saw Takakura, he stormed over, obviously angry, and began to lecture him on the importance of warning your workers that the animals are dangerous.

"I told you, Shepherd. You just didn't listen."

"You always tell me that, old man! You always tell me I don't listen, but I was listening when you told me how to milk the cow! I was trying to do just what you told me, and the damn thing kicked me in the face!"

"I warned you, Shepherd."

"Bullshit, you warned me! I'm out of here! I never had to deal with this shit in Mineral Town. See you later, asswipe!" he screamed. He started a quick jog toward the farm exit, but without his left eye useable, he ended up running straight into Archer's outstretched arm. The farm's new farmer grabbed Shepherd by the collar and held him up, a few inches off of the ground.

"Respect your elders, you little shit," Archer said coldly, his steely blue eyes burrowing deep into Shepherd's. When he dropped the young adult, he choked for a bit and stared evilly at both of them, before throwing a fit and spewing indiscernible syllables as he left.

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Author Notes: Welcome to Forget-Me-Not Valley, Archer! You're loved here, don't worry! Poor guy. No, I'll tell you who's a poor guy: Shepherd. I dislike him, so I had a cow kick him in the face. Fair? No, but it was fun. No, he's not from FoMT, he's an original character I created solely so I could torment him. Archer's still got a full day ahead of him to get to know the townspeople. Who will it be next? I like reviews, so please leave them for me!


	5. Free Spirits

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. I do own three of the games and Rune Factory, but that hardly makes a difference. I also own a very old, very comfy blanket. That makes even less difference, actually.

Author Note: And Chapter 4 begins. There's nothing to say here, so I won't waste your time. Actually, yeah, I will. I got Beautiful Katamari for 10 dollars recently. What a steal.

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Chapter 4 – Free Spirits

Takakura and Archer had only taken a few steps into the house that Archer would be living in before realizing that it was in a state of complete disarray. The bed sheets were torn from the mattress and lying in a heap across the room, next to a pile of crushed beer cans and torn up magazines. There was trash everywhere, including several ripped, empty bags that once held a hefty supply of frozen pizza pockets. An ashtray had tipped over near the bed and coated the nearby floor with gross, fresh cigarette butts. Takakura shook his head, clearly highly agitated by the mess, and he turned to Archer.

"I apologize for this. I'll have all of Shepherd's stuff out of here by tonight."

But Archer didn't want any of it. He figured that if this was going to be his house, he might as well act like it now.

"Nonsense, you've had enough trouble working with the man. Let me clean up, and I'll be able to set things up how I want them, too. There's no sense in you cleaning up my house."

"No, really, I have this. I'll have to clean the sheets and leave the windows open for a while to get the smell of cigarettes out. And I told that boy I don't allow smoking indoors, the filthy little…"

"I'm used to the smell. This place is a lot like my apartment."

"I doubt by your choice. Your father always wanted things clean."

"His compulsive cleanliness is a trait I thankfully did not pick up. Not that I don't respect a clean home," Archer responded. It was true, he always appreciated cleanliness, but it was far from the top on his list of priorities. In fact, his father was one of the reasons he was accustomed to a mess. It was something he would do to spite the tyrannical man. And boy, did it work. Of course, the lashings were always a disadvantage, but it was worth it. Most of the time.

"Regardless, I've got it from here. You go do what you want, but make sure you get back here around nightfall. If not, then go straight to Vesta's and I'll meet you there. Don't want to miss dinner with her or I'll never hear the end of it."

"If you must," the younger of the two finally complied, and he turned and left the small home, taking quick, fleeting steps in order to get out to the main road. He had seen a large building not too far from the entrance to the farm that he wanted to check out. On the way to the house, he'd caught a glimpse of the sign above the door to the Inner Inn and was interested to see what an inn could do for a town as small as Forget-Me-Not Valley. He had a healthy suspicion that the place probably doubled as a bar. Otherwise, he thought, how would they make enough money to keep the place open?

Upon entry, though, he took a quick look around and realized that it was just an inn; no more, no less. He wasn't going to find any booze here, not that he was actively hunting for it. It would still be nice to know where he could find something with a little kick if he found it hard to adjust to his new country life. An Asian couple sat behind the counter, making near-silent conversation until they noticed that they had a guest.

"Oh, hello," the woman said, standing up to greet him from her post, grabbing a few things to prepare to get him a room, as she was positive he would need. After all, she didn't recognize him and her husband showed no signs of recognition either. The guest had excellent posture when he walked, with an almost regal stance, they noticed, almost like a certain someone they remembered…who was it…

"Would you like for me to book you a room, sir?" the woman asked, and Archer shook his head quickly, extending a hand in greeting to the man first, then waiting for the woman to respond before shaking hers. He was ever the gentleman.

"No, I won't need a room. I'm moving into the farm across the road with Takakura. I'm Asher Coleridge's son, Archer. Pleased to meet you."

"Archer! Archer Coleridge! We've heard so much about you from your father! It's really a shame that he passed on, and at such a young age, too. We're really very sorry for your loss."

"It was a loss for everyone of this town, apparently. Don't pity me when it wasn't my life he impacted most in his later years," he told them, avoiding a direct statement of "I didn't like my father, please stop with that assumption." The woman smiled.

"He had an impact on this valley, most definitely."

Before their introduction could get on any further, there was a loud door slam from upstairs, followed by the sound of satisfied whistling as a pair of footsteps slowly approached the stairs and descended. Archer turned to face the source of these steps, a young blond guy with a medallion hanging around his neck. There was something about him that screamed "mischief," and from the moment their eyes made contact, Archer could tell just about everything about this man's personality. He was a bit of a player, loved parties, and could probably drink like no other. In his quick glance to the Asian couple, Archer's eyes locked in on what looked to be a family photo of the couple and their young blond child, who looked very much like the man who had just come downstairs.

"Morning, 'rents!" he said, bringing to Archer's attention that it was nowhere near the morning. This guy must've been up all night. Probably partying. "Who's this?"

"Mr. Coleridge, this is our son, Rock," the man, apparently the father, told Archer. Archer stuck his hand out once again.

"So formal," Rock said, though he did respond with a handshake. Of course, as the young kids couldn't resist doing these days, Rock added in a little special something, a fist pound with a little finger wiggle, and Archer followed, albeit slowly. "You're all right. You're Asher's son, right?"

"Asher was my father, yes. Nice to meet you, Rock," he said, noting the very obvious fact that Rock looked nothing like his "'rents." Adoption, most likely, he thought.

"And I'm Ruby, and this is my husband, Tim. A pleasure to meet you."

"So, this is an inn, right? You don't get much business here, do you?" Archer asked, rather bluntly, and hoped that they wouldn't take it as an insult to their décor or upkeep of the place.

"Why would you think that?"

"Small town, a bit out of the way. Really, the only travelers I'd think you would get are people from Mineral Town, and that's not really far enough to justify an inn stay down here in the valley."

"Well, we manage."

"I'm sure."

Ruby put all of her booking materials away and Tim went through a door behind the counter. The woman was soon to follow, but she promised to reemerge soon enough, not wanting to be rude to the new addition to the town. Rock was inquisitive of the newbie, remembering that three years ago, Takakura was supposed to bring him back to the valley to help run the farm. Instead, he'd come back alone, and now that loser Shepherd was working the fields. Rock had a real problem with Shepherd. Not only was he rude and intolerant of Rock's lifestyle, he violently opposed Tim and Ruby, only because they were Asian. And if he hated Rock's parents, then he hated Rock. Man, what he wouldn't give to meet Shepherd in a dark alley at night.

"So, Archer, you look like you know how to have a good time. You've got that party-boy look."

Archer was stunned and forced himself to reassess his appearance. Did he look anything like Rock? If he had to say anything about himself, he would almost equate his appearance to the likes of a suave, conniving superspy. All he was missing was a tuxedo and a sleek car. He supposed that his short, brown hair could be considered stylish, and the form of his facial hair only contributed to the youthful look he couldn't avoid. Looking down at his clothes, he realized he had picked something rather informal, but still fashionable for the trek to the valley. Perhaps not the smartest of decisions, since he was exposed to the outdoor elements of the country, but it was a habit he couldn't kick. It wasn't his fault that he owned nice clothing. It was nice enough to go back to his apartment to grab, anyway. And as logic would dictate, it helped with a favorable first impression.

"Not so much nowadays."

"Why not?" Rock asked, mocking offense. He punched Archer in the shoulder, a gesture he was not used to but knew about, and he accepted it, as he should have.

"My life as of late has been a sequence of obstacles resulting in the loss of my job, home, and virtually everything else of mine. That's why I finally decided to bite the bullet and move out here."

"You use too many words, dude."

"I've been told."

"Well, if your life is sucking so bad, how about you come with me into the city tonight? I've been looking for someone to take up there so I don't get bored on the way. We have ways out there of blocking out all the bad stuff completely. My life rocks but I can't resist the nightlife in the city. You know what I mean?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I've got plans for the night. I'll take a rain check."

"Aww, man. Well, whatever, there's always tomorrow, right? If I know a free spirit like myself, you can't resist the calling for very long."

Archer was starting to wonder about this one. From the way he talked about the city, he sounded like he knew where the scene was and where to be. Depending on how long he'd been doing what he did, Archer wouldn't have been at all surprised if he had actually met Rock at some point in the past, though there was no way he would remember it. In fact, he was probably too drunk to remember those nights at all.

"Well, it's a pleasure, Rock. As you can expect, I'm going to be fairly busy for the rest of the day, introducing myself to the other locals and such, so I will be taking my leave of you now," he said, preparing to turn and leave when he realized that he was using too many words again. That was something he was going to have to get used to. It wasn't his intention of making the inhabitants of Forget-Me-Not Valley see him as an uppity city snob. Though, from his limited experience, these people were too nice for that. Even Rock, obviously the town playboy, seemed tame by the standards Archer had grown around in the city. Of course, the late-night hours and claustrophobic, jovial environment that the bright streetlights and blaring car alarms formed had a way of transforming people. Perhaps Rock was putting up a front to fit in better with the conservative people of the valley.

"Um…sure thing, boss. I'll see you around. I'm headed out to attempt to court a lovely lass who lives up at the mansion at the far end of town," he said, and he departed. Ruby came back into the lobby.

"Oh, Archer, you're still here? Well, I wouldn't want to be rude and not offer you lunch. I was just about to go upstairs and get Rock and Nami. You're welcome to stay, if you'd like."

"Well, Rock just left, actually. And I've got a lot of people I've got to get around to meet, so while I appreciate your offer, I'm going to have to decline."

"Oh. Okay, that's fine. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Coleridge."

"Pleasure's all mine, Ruby. And please, call me Archer. Give my regards to Tim for me,."

"Will do. Goodbye."

Archer exited the inn as Ruby ascended the stairs to rouse "Nami," who Archer assumed was a tenant at the inn. Judging by the fact that Ruby knew her name, he assumed that the woman was permanent, more or less, drawn in by the charms of Forget-Me-Not Valley but unable to procure enough money to get a house in the area. It didn't seem like it mattered, though. If he was a good judge of people – as he prided himself in being – then Ruby and Tim, or Ruby at the very least, was probably very generous when it came to paying lodging fees.

The next thing to pop into his view, on the left hand side of the road, was a small building with a name that attracted Archer: The Blue Bar. While it was too early for drinks, he could probably get himself a soda or something, and there were probably a few people there that he could meet instead of having to meet up with them individually later on. It would probably be a good thing to get in good with the bartender, as well. That was never a bad idea.

Review if you liked, please!

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Author Notes: Yeah, baby, finally got this old thing up. I've been torn between this and some repo show for the past few hours, not to mention some unfortunate news regarding this coming year for me. Nothing too big, but it's still highly unfortunate and uncertain. I'll be putting up the next chapter soon, shortly after it gets written, I'd imagine. I've been looking forward to this next one, perhaps a few of you know why. Remember to review. I put a notice up there above the divider line for those who don't actually read the author notes. Mwahahahaha.


	6. Rock and Roll

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. I don't own a farm, either. I don't own livestock. A chupacabra took them all down. So, I live in a modest suburban home with two cats.

Author Note: I had some crazy as hell Batman dream last night. I'm talking telepathic clues to a box called the "Cube" that was supposed to help me solve a murder. I was Batman. My wife died in it, but thing is, I'm 17, unmarried, and don't know any women named Flinn. Nor am I Batman. As far as you know.

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Chapter 5 – Rock and Roll

Archer pushed open the heavy oaken door and was immediately hit with the sound of guitar strings being plucked from the far side of the room. His footfalls on the wooden floor went completely unnoticed as the man sitting upon a small, what looked to be makeshift stage kept his head down and his focus on his fingers as they slid up and down the frets of the ancient white acoustic instrument. Sitting in front of him were the two youngest people that Archer had yet seen in the valley. The one on the left was a yellow-haired boy wearing a white and blue pinstriped hat and overalls, with a red shirt underneath. Personally, Archer would have ended his parents had they forced him to wear something so ridiculous. Of course, he would've been two years old, so that thought probably wouldn't even have crossed his mind. But still, the hat made the child look silly. It almost reminded Archer of people who dressed up their animals. Did the kid want to wear that stupid hat? Probably not.

The one on the right had a much more satisfactory appearance to Archer. He, too, had light blond hair and wore blue and white, but he hadn't been forced into overalls and a dumb cap. His wavy hair was cropped short and almost blended with his milky skin. He was the first one to notice that Archer had entered, but he said nothing, turning back around to face the guitarist. The boy's eyes were piercing blue, a cyan ocean filled with childhood innocence, something that Archer found himself wishing that he had been able to experience. He lost so much when he was forced to grow up as fast as he did. It was pointless, however, to dawdle on events so far into the past.

The man playing the guitar finished his song and the children clapped. The one on the left, with the hat, clapped in a very obnoxious, attention-getting way, while the one on the right was a bit more reserved, though he still had the carefree element of youth propelling his tiny hands. Archer stepped forward from the light shadows near the door and clapped as well, commanding the attention of the three. The kid on the left seemed startled, and possibly frightened by the sudden appearance of the tall, mysterious stranger. The one on the right glanced back again but still made no other indication that he was bothered. The guitarist stood up and pointed.

"Did you not see the sign?" he barked, his inflection showing that he was clearly not peeved, but he had jumped nearly twelve feet as a result of the surprise.

"I've never been acclaimed for my observational skills, sir. I'd assume you're closed, then," Archer said, preparing to leave if need be. The man, shorter than him by about a foot, but then again, who wasn't, had thick, bushy sienna hair and a bushy mustache to match. He tied it back in a ponytail, presumably for a more business-like appearance, though in the city, where Archer worked, nothing of the sort would fly with administration. Neither would the thick stubble on the guitarist's pronounced chin and the rest of his face, nor the massive sideburns.

"No, it's not a problem. You just kinda popped outta nowhere, is all," the man said.

"My name's Archer," he told the musician, reaching his hand out to greet who appeared to be the only individual of working age around the bar, "I'm Asher's son,"

"Oh, yeah, Archer! You were at the funeral, right? I heard you KO'd your cousin on his way out," he said, shaking hands firmly with the new farmer, who cocked his head with confusion.

"That never happened. Someone embellished the story a little, it seems,"

"I figured. Well, welcome to the Blue Bar, my name's Griffin. I run this place, with a little help who doesn't happen to be here right now. Can I get you something to drink?"

Archer requested a lemon-lime soda and sat down at one of the stools, and found that the two kids had run off into the back room. Griffin warned them not to get too rowdy as he poured ice into a glass for Archer, who pointed at the white guitar on the bar.

"You were just playing 'Taken by the Forever Angel,' right?" he asked, and Griffin smiled, sliding the drink down the counter into Archer's open, waiting hand. He seemed pleased.

"And here I was thinking I was the only one who knew any Dale Treiber,"

"One of my favorites growing up," Archer said, taking a sip of the drink, "You played it well,"

"I should hope so, you applauded the performance. Treiber's a legend, far as I'm concerned. There wasn't a concert he played that I wasn't at. Shame he had to go so early,"

"Heart disease, wasn't it?" Archer asked, knowing the answer, and Griffin nodded. Soon after, the loud crash and clinking noises of broken glass on wood came from the back room, and Griffin turned to go chastise the children for breaking whatever it was that had broken.

"David! Trent! Get out from under the bed, I'm not mad at you, what was that noise?" he asked as he busted through the door to the back room, his ponytail swishing with his quick movements. Archer could almost hear the kids trembling in fear, though Griffin was a kind soul. He had to be if he listened to Dale Treiber. There were, of course, exceptions to the rule, like Archer, but the chances of two exceptions being in the same room in the same miniature town in the same middle-of-nowhere valley were slim-to-none.

"Cute kids. Yours?" Archer asked when Griffin reemerged from the room, carrying a dustpan filled with clear shards of broken glass from a mug. He dumped the shards into a small black plastic trash can and shook his head.

"Oh, no, not mine. They belong to my coworker. She's up in Mineral Town right now talking to an old friend who works up there. Supposed to be back tonight. I hope so, sometimes kids are a little trouble. You got any?" Griffin asked.

"No. No, I'm single," Archer replied monotonously, drinking his soda and glancing around at the rock and roll paraphernalia Griffin had decorated the bar with. There was a lot of stuff that he recognized, and, in fact, a lot of stuff that Archer remembered having in his room during his teenage years. Somehow, his mother had convinced his father to allow him to hang up posters and decorate how he wanted – something about encouraging his social development by allowing him to creatively express himself. Whatever it was, his father got tired of listening to his wife talk about it and finally told Archer to do whatever he wanted, but not without adding a touch of malice to his words. He never could resist the addition of a threat to the tail end of a sentence.

"Well, there's plenty of good women here in the valley. You've got Celia up at Vesta's. She's a pretty one, 26, I think. Moved in here a few years ago from some far off town that I forget the name of, and she's lived with Vesta since. Let me think…well, if you're into the young girls, there's always Lumina up at the mansion, and if you want older women, there's Flora at the dig site near the waterfall," Griffin continued, but Archer didn't find himself interested. Besides, he knew that Rock was trying to court the girl at the mansion, Lumina, and he would never want to cut in on anyone's action.

"Well, what about you? If you know about all these women, why aren't you after one?" Archer asked, attempting to turn the conversation around.

"I've got my eye on someone,"

"Your coworker?"

Griffin said nothing, picking up his guitar and changing the subject away from women and back to music.

"So, you're a fan of Dale Treiber. Would you be interested to know that I played alongside him on his last tour before he died?"

This distracted Archer, who, while by no means a fanatic, had attended Dale's final concert of the tour when it stopped by the city, and had been there when he had first started complaining of chest pains the night before his death. The two were able to enjoy a long conversation about the rock and roll legend and the various other musicians that both Griffin and Archer liked before he realized that he had overstayed his welcome, and that the sun was starting to set. He wanted to get home and help Takakura clean up, if he had not already done so, so he bid farewell to Griffin and the two kids, Trent and David, and made his way back to the house, where, to his surprise, he found two dogs scratching at the door to the barn. One was a large retriever-type that growled ravenously, as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. Perhaps they sensed the cow inside. The other was a runty little floppy-eared puppy, probably no more than six months old. When they saw Archer, the retriever bared its teeth and stood its ground.

"Back off, mutt," Archer barked at the dog, which challenged him with a loud, guttural roar of sorts. When he stepped forward threateningly, the retriever turned tail and rain away, exiting via the side exit that led to the river. The smaller dog sat and cocked its head playfully.

"You too. Go on, get out of here!" he yelled, but the dog would not move. It ran up to him and sat down at his feet, whimpering for attention and pawing at the air near Archer's legs. He glanced around, wondering if perhaps the dog belonged to someone, but could see no visible collar. He picked up a nearby stick and threw it onto the main path, and the dog immediately bolted. He sighed with the relief that he wasn't going to have to punt the animal into next week and started walking toward the house, but felt a light, slimy feeling on the back of his calf when the dog returned, having fetched the stick for him. It seemed well trained, but no owner was visible.

Yet even Archer's calloused heart couldn't resist the big, black puppy dog eyes that the animal was giving him. It looked malnourished, and in a way, reminded Archer of himself when he was younger. Of course, the parallels were minor, but he had a way of making them exist in his mind, and so he picked up the skinny dog and brought him into the house, where Takakura was finishing up his cleaning endeavor.

"Dogs are still here, are they?" he asked, and the dog barked, as if answering Takakura's question. "Well, if you noticed, your dad did have a doghouse, so if you want it, you can have it, but training's up to you,"

"He can fetch already, I'm sure it won't be too hard," Archer commented, "Besides, you never know when you're going to need an attack dog. He'll do nicely when he's a little more grown,"

"I guess so. Your responsibility. I'm gonna go wash up for Vesta's house. Sun'll be down soon, and I can already smell the pie,"

Takakura left, and Archer was now able to look at the cleaned version of his new home. It was small, but he was only one person and didn't need anything extravagant. It was perhaps half a size bigger than his apartment, and the bed looked a little bit more comfortable, though it smelled like citrus from the cleaning spray Takakura had applied to the room's various fabrics. He decided that he looked and smelled fine, but would take a shower, just to make sure. This day was looking to have a happy ending.

Remember to review!

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Author Notes: I'm gonna keep leaving the review notice up there. It may make a huge difference. So, Griffin's a rock and roll fanatic. Dale Treiber doesn't exist, by the way. Well, I'm sure he does, but he's no rock and roll legend. I even Googled it. So, in case you didn't notice, I'm kinda going for a mix between HM:AWL and HM:DS, and maybe even a little bit of FoMT in this fanfic. AWL is the main inspiration, though, so I'm going to draw mainly from that. Remember, reviews are nice! You like being nice! Therefore, review me!


	7. Unruly Diner

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. Nor do I own an oilrig, but this show "Black Gold" makes the oil business less and less appealing every time it comes on (and I wasn't interested in the first place). Which, in my sleep schedule, is three times every night it comes on normally. Damn this show. Is it really smart to smoke a cigarette when, at any given moment, that drill could start pumping out flammable gases that were buried in the earth?

Author Note: So, I've been chilling. You know, the usual stuff I do. I played "Zombies!!" the board game today, and damn, that was fun. I recommend it to everyone, if you've got a couple of hours to spend. Well worth the time and money. These notes have less and less to do with the story as the chapters go on…

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Chapter 6 – Unruly Diner

"Archer! You're here! Come in, come in, sit down and fix yourself a plate, there's plenty of food on the table for everyone!" Vesta exclaimed as Archer passed through the front door to the woman's humble abode, a charming wooden structure that didn't seem entirely suited to large dinner parties as this one, but the table had been turned diagonally and the chairs reorganized to fit correctly in order to add a few spaces to the otherwise cramped area. There were a few platters in the center, each with a different dish. It had all of the trademarks of southern dining, as Archer had experienced it. A basket of fried chicken sat in the center, breaded that afternoon by hand and seasoned with a supposedly secret mixture of herbs and spices. Next to it, as Archer expected, was a bowl of mashed potatoes, with the trademark scent of garlic wafting up from the creamy yellow substance. A bowl of corn sat next to the gravy boat, and most importantly to Archer, directly beside a heaping container filled to the brim with rice casserole.

"Well, Celia, Marlin, this here's Archer Coleridge, Asher's son," Vesta introduced the tall man as Takakura entered behind him. He waved to everyone and silently seated himself in one of the chairs. A pretty girl with long brown hair stepped up to greet Archer, reaching her hand out, much to the surprise of both Vesta and their male companion, though Vesta kept her mouth shut. Celia was normally such a shy girl, though she was very friendly. What had possessed her to step forward before Marlin to greet their guest was over their heads, but Archer saw her as a woman who knew the rules of gentlemanly conduct. He took her hand and shook it gently, and then turned his attention to Marlin. He noticed that the man's eyes had been focused on his hand even before it was his turn to introduce himself, and as Celia retracted hers Marlin's sight followed Archer's arm. His expression, as he had failed to contain his shock at Celia's outward response to the guest, showed a very clear, negative emotion that Archer couldn't quite place. Marlin faked a smile and said hello.

"Come on, let's not gather here in the doorway, let's eat! That smells been tugging at my senses all the day!" said Vesta, breaking Marlin's handshake and gesturing them to have a seat at the table. Archer, knowing Takakura the most out of all of these people, sat down beside him, and Marlin sat to his left, across from Celia. Vesta sat across from Archer and started passing the food around, grabbing a chicken leg and a breast for herself before piling corn and potatoes on her plate. They were fairly quiet as everyone covered their plates, and eventually Vesta decided she had to be the one to break the silence between everyone.

"So, Archer, how's your first day in Forget-Me-Not Valley been? Met some of the interesting folks we have here?" she asked, and though Archer didn't like being put in the spotlight so soon into the meal, he happily answered, passing a plate of crescent rolls to Marlin that he hadn't realized were on the table earlier.

"Yes, ma'am, it's been rather nice, actually. I've only been to a few places, but so far, it's been nothing but positive."

"Oh, don't call me ma'am, you'll make me feel old. Vesta's fine."

"Very well, Vesta."

"So, where've you been? The dig site, down to the beach, the spring?" she asked as Celia finished up with the rolls and set them down, now content that everyone had what they wanted. She was particularly pleased that their guests had taken a few pieces of chicken each. She had made it herself and was experimenting with a new recipe.

"Um, excuse me," Celia interrupted, "it's customary to say a prayer to the Harvest Goddess before we eat to ensure that we'll continue to have good health and a good harvest in the coming months."

"Oh, yeah, let's do that now. Celia, would you like to lead us?" Vesta asked, grabbing Takakura's hand and Celia's as well, as Celia reached across the table for Marlin's. Archer was unfamiliar with prayer, but he knew enough about it to take Takakura's hand and put his out for Marlin, whom accepted it, though for some reason, he looked reluctant when he did so.

"Well…um, actually, it's a special occasion, so I would want to make sure that I wouldn't be stealing the privilege from anyone if…I mean, if one of our guests wants to do it," she said shyly, and Vesta looked dead-on into Archer's icy blue eyes.

"Oh, yeah, Archer, why don't you lead us?" she asked enthusiastically. He considered objecting, since he knew nothing about the Harvest Goddess – nor had he even heard of such a deity – and had not said a prayer in nearly twenty years. But, as he was the guest and didn't want to upset his hosts, especially ones who had been so hospitable of him despite having met him less than six hours earlier, he nodded and bowed his head, but suddenly jerked his head back up when he heard Marlin pipe up from beside him.

"No, I got it," he said, and he bowed his head, but Vesta objected.

"No, Marlin, Archer said he'd do it, let's respect what our guests want."

"He did not, you put him on the spot."

"Regardless, he was gonna do it, let him do it."

"Marlin-" Celia tried to interject, but Marlin didn't pay attention.

"I want to say the prayer."

"Ma'am, if it's going to be trouble, then I think we should just let Marlin here say the prayer for us. Besides, he's probably more experienced at it than I am," Archer said, and Vesta smiled.

"Don't call me ma'am, sweetie, it's Vesta. Well, Marlin, go ahead then if it means so much to you," she said, and everyone bowed their heads once more and Marlin began to pray for the meal. As he did so, Archer started to wonder if perhaps Marlin had a problem with him. He couldn't exactly see a reason why, as it had only been a few minutes since they had formally met, and before that all they knew of each other was a glance from far across Vesta's fields. But his entire experience with the dark-haired man involved a very menacing look at their introduction and the need to rob the prayer from under Archer's nose, though he didn't consider that completely volatile, since Archer wouldn't have known what to say.

He supposed that he might've just rubbed Marlin the wrong way.

"So bless this food, bless this home and our fields, bless the valley and its inhabitants, and bless Archer and Takakura's farm. Heavens know they'll need it. Amen," Marlin concluded, and they all retracted their hands and grabbed for their forks. Before it was cold, Archer knew that he had to at least sample the casserole, so he could decide whether or not it was worth saving for last in order to keep the flavor in his mouth after the meal was over. But before he could, Vesta jumped down his throat again with her previous question.

"So, Archer, you were saying about the valley? Where've you been so far? Who've you talked to?"

Archer took a spoonful of the casserole and let the aroma float up into his nostrils as he placed the spoon in his mouth and felt the almost painfully delicious food run down his throat before answering the question.

"Well, I went to the inn and met with the proprietors there, Tim and Ruby, both very nice people. And I met their son, Rock, who invited me up to the city tonight."

"So you're the partying sort," Marlin said, almost condescendingly, and Archer turned to him.

"I wouldn't call myself that, but who doesn't enjoy a good party every now and then?"

Marlin glanced at Celia, who returned his eye contact before looking back down to his meal. He was trying to send her a message, but Archer couldn't tell what. It didn't look like Celia cared too much.

"What about Nami? Did you meet her?" Vesta asked. Archer had not, and he said so, tasting the casserole again, as well as the fluffy croissant and his scoop of the potatoes, which, if his taste hadn't failed, were a sort of chipotle cheddar and roasted garlic mixture, which he found highly gratifying. "Well, none of us really know too much about Nami. She's a little bit of a loner, bright red hair; you can't miss her when you can actually find her. Ah, well. Go on, anyone else?"

"I went to the Blue Bar and spent most of my time talking to Griffin about all of the things on his walls. He's quite a fan of rock and roll."

Vesta put her hands together as she swallowed a mouthful of fried chicken, nodding her head slightly. "Aren't those two kids there adorable? Fraternal twins, I think their mama told me. Both of them look so much like her, it's almost scary. Did you meet her, or was she still up in the city?"

"She's still gone. The bar was actually closed, but I failed to notice the sign and walked right in on one of Griffin's performances."

"Yeah, he's subjecting those kids to his rock and roll crap while their mama's away. I don't know if it's healthy, but hey, they aren't my kids. I don't have any kids. What about you, Archer, do you have any kiddos running around somewhere? I'd think you wouldn't, otherwise you'd have brought them out here with you, where it's nice and open."

"No, no kids. I wouldn't ever consider children of my own," he said, and looked up and saw that Vesta had an almost shocked look on her face. He quickly finished the sentence, "not without being happily married first, of course. I couldn't bear the responsibility," Well, it wasn't a lie, but the chances of him finding a woman that he could stand for a long while were very slim, and as it was, he didn't really care to begin the search. But, of course, southern women like Vesta were usually very family-oriented, and he knew that telling her straight that he didn't intend on marrying or having children was probably not the best decision to make.

And Vesta erupted with laughter. "Whoo, boy, for a minute I thought you were crazy! A set of traits like yours going to waste? No, no, you can't let that happen, son," she said, nudging Celia slightly with her elbow. Celia understood what she was trying to say, but she didn't respond, mixing her corn in with her potatoes and picking some up with her fork. Marlin glared angrily at Vesta, but Vesta didn't see. "Well, I'm sure you'll find someone down here in Forget-Me-Not Valley. Plenty of young bachelorettes around here for you."

"Excellent chicken, Vesta," Archer complimented. She dabbed a slight bit of gravy from her lips and shook her head at him.

"Don't thank me, thank Celia here! She made the chicken."

"Well, you did a wonderful job," he told the brunette, and she smiled at him and thanked him for the compliment. As soon as he looked down to take another bite, he felt a rough weight drop on his foot beneath the table and he very nearly let out a chain of curses that would bring a sailor to his knees in tears, but he remembered where he was and was able to reduce it down to a single gasp of pain. He looked over and saw Marlin retracting his foot and leering at him before he stood up and began to apologize, albeit with a sadistic hiss.

"I'm sorry, Archer, my foot must've slipped," but by the time he had the words out of his mouth, Archer had stood, his six foot six inch frame towering over Marlin's. The man looked frightened, but at the same time seemed like he knew what he was doing. Vesta barked for them to calm down and Celia calmly protested their behavior, chastising Marlin for being childish.

"What is your problem, Marlin? Are you daft? Are you ill?" Archer asked, and it seemed to strike a nerve in the black-haired assailant. Vesta was already up and around the table and now standing between the two, staring down at Marlin solely because between the two men who were about to butt heads with each other, Marlin was the one she had the height advantage over.

"Now, what is this? We're trying to have a nice dinner here. I'm not going to have to separate you like children, am I? We are grown adults here. Marlin, now you apologize for stomping on Archer's foot and we'll get back to the food, all right? Do you hear me, Marlin?"

"He'll have to take back what he said before I do anything," he told his older sister, but by then Archer was already back at his chair, taking one last bite of the casserole before turning and pushing his chair in.

"It's perfectly fine, Vesta, no need to upset anything because of me. If I'm going to be a thorn in anyone's side here, then it's best if I just left. The food was amazing, and I will see the three of you around. Goodbye," he said, and he started for the door, and despite Vesta's protests, he left, leaving behind a half eaten tray of chicken, potatoes, and a small bowl of casserole that was beginning to cool. Vesta was angry, to say the least.

"Well, now look what you did, Marlin! What in the hell is the matter with you? Just stomping on our guest's foot like that? I don't even understand what the hell you were trying to do!"

"Well, it wasn't my fault entirely, did you see what he was doing the whole time?"

"No, what was he doing, Marlin? I'm curious, I really want to know, what was it that Archer was doing here the whole time that no one but you noticed that warranted you kicking the poor boy in the foot? Please, tell me!"

Marlin could come up with nothing to say. He uttered a few incoherent syllables as he glanced back and forth between Celia, who was now cleaning up Archer's place at the table, and Vesta, staring down her nose at him, pissed beyond belief.

"I…I…don't know. Dammit, Vesta!"

Review me, please, if you've read this far I'm sure you're enjoying it!

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Author Notes: What an ass. All over a stupid little crush, too. It's a shame she'll never return his love. But that's okay, because Marlin's a dick. Well, that's the end of that chapter. As I've said before, leave me reviews, baby! And I mean that!


	8. Drink of Champions

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. I would say that when I first bought FoMT, Harvest Moon owned me. Some real Soviet Russia business going on there.

Author Note: Soul Calibur IV is rocking. I've got plenty of games I'm working on getting achievements for, and this is now one of them. Phantasy Star Universe, Dynasty Warriors 6, Beautiful Katamari, and now SCIV. Yep.

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Chapter 7 – Drink of Champions

Was he mad? Well, perhaps a little bit. After all, he had just been stomped by some punk with an attitude problem, and it had scuffed his nice shoe. He now had to walk home alone in a dark, unfamiliar town, and though he could see areas illuminated by the streetlamps, he didn't know what to expect just outside the safety of the light. Were there any weirdoes in town that he hadn't yet been introduced to that liked to prey on people who walked alone on the streets at night? There were plenty of those up in the city, and it wasn't too far away for one to have strayed from the blazing sirens and neon signs.

He glanced both ways before entering the main city path after passing through Vesta's gateway, out of habit. Though no one in the valley owned a car, a life of avoiding speeders and drunkards who had been so utterly irresponsible as to have gotten behind the wheel of a motor vehicle had conditioned him to take precautions against being smashed again. All was quiet. He saw no one leaving the valley or coming down the mountain slope, but in the distance to his right, he could see a line of people wandering to and from home. Well, if they were out, then his chances of being mugged or robbed or whatever else lurked in the dark were probably rather low. He could see three shapes, two backlit from lamps with drastically different shades of hair, a blonde and a redhead, and one silhouette moving in the opposite direction of the others, going toward Archer and Vesta's farm. As the closest one got even closer, Archer could tell that whoever it was had recognized him from the minute pulling of facial muscles, barely visible in the dark. The shape waved and called out as it continued walking closer.

"Dude, Archer, what's up?" it asked, in a familiar, young voice, with the hidden strings of anticipation plucking from within. It was Rock, likely on his way up to the city. Lucky him.

"How are you, Rock?" Archer asked, and he started walking home, stopping when his path crossed with Rock's.

"Asked you first. How was your, uh, your…that thing you had to do tonight? You all done?" Rock asked, searching his memory to try and see if he could remember what it was Archer had told him he had to do. He couldn't remember that Archer had only said that he had plans, and had not specified.

"That was dinner at Vesta's. It went…well, I could say, if I wanted to lie. That Marlin character is a little bit of an asshole, for lack of a more fitting term."

"Oh, yeah, I know Marlin. He's a jerk, especially if you try anything with Celia. He's definitely got a thing for her."

Well, that made a lot of sense to Archer. Introducing himself to her, complimenting her on a job well done when it came to cooking chicken, trying to say a prayer for the meal after Celia requested for him to do so – all of these seemed like perfectly reasonable explanations for the impulse to stomp on the foot of someone who had not been in town for even a single day. Now that he thought about it, he'd do the same thing. Oh, wait, no he wouldn't. Marlin was just a dickhead.

"Well, should I assume that you know this from firsthand experience?" Archer asked, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one foot. A light appeared in his peripheral vision and he glanced over to see the redhead enter the Inner Inn, and the blonde enter the Blue Bar, much further away. Though he had not met either of them, he was sure that the redhead was the Nami both Ruby and Vesta spoke of, and the blonde was probably the mother of those two kids from the bar. Their names escaped Archer.

"Hey, hey, it wasn't a serious thing. I was just testing the waters and here comes the Marlin-shark. He starts biting and I swim the other way. Besides, Celia's a little too…I don't know, farmy. You know what I mean?"

"I can see how you would come to that conclusion. All I know about her is she's a mean cook and very shy,"

"Well, the cooking thing I can go for, but shy? No way, bro. I need a little fire in my women, a little spunk. Someone classy."

"What about Nami, then? Don't you two live pretty close? Across the hall, maybe?"

"She likes the city, but she doesn't do the same scene as me. She goes and heads straight for the bookstores, all those weird exotic food places, and…I don't know. I've never seen her party before. And she's been at the inn so long; she's like a mean older sister. And she's not very outgoing either. Even though she's probably away from the Inn more hours of the day than I am. Sometimes I want to know where that woman spends all her time, because apparently it's fun enough to not want to party with Rock."

Well, she sounded like a bundle of sunshine. Her hobbies sounded similar to Archer's, though, he noticed.

"But if I play my cards right, I won't have to worry. I've got this one girl, Lumina, the one I went to go see earlier. She lives in a mansion and plays piano, so she's about as classy as girls get, and on top of that, she likes to play games with her men. Like hard-to-get, and she knows how much I love that in a woman."

"Well, Rock, I don't want to keep you waiting. It was pleasant seeing you again, especially after the little fiasco inside. I'll let you get on to your party, or wherever you're going."

"Well, if you're done with your plans, then why don't you just come up with me?"

"You say that as though you don't think I have anything better to do, no offense."

"Well, you just moved in, it's either party with Rock or unpack boxes. If I were you, I'd hang with me, personally."

Archer contemplated it, for about half of a second, before coming to a decision.

"Yeah, all right. I might as well. But for the record, I do have better things to do than unpack boxes. Just to inform you."

"Like…watch your crops grow?" Rock joked, poking fun at Archer's new occupation, and then he motioned for the town's newest resident to follow him. Archer thought about going back to tell Takakura where he was going to be, but he didn't want to go back inside Vesta's house after making such a dramatic exit. It would drastically deaden the intended effect of his exit.

The blonde woman set down her bags quietly when she realized that her two sons had passed out on the floor playing a game with each other, glancing around the room expectantly, looking for Griffin, but he was nowhere to be found. She had brought back his favorite wine from the city after doing a little bit of clothes shopping for herself and the two boys. She removed the cool glass bottle from the bag and held it by the neck in one hand, brushing a lock of her hair from in front of her eyes. The day had been just a little bit hectic, what with the incompetent cashiers and the too-close-for-comfort encounter with the front end of a convertible sports car that had decided that red lights were for losers. She had broken the first bottle of wine there, being pulled back from the asphalt by a Good Samaritan, who, having felt at fault slightly for the shattered drink, had politely offered to buy her a new one. She accepted, of course, to be nice about it, even though she felt she shouldn't have taken the offer because she owed him for saving her life.

Oh, well. What happened happened, and there was nothing she could do about it now but smile and enjoy the rest of her night with a TV dinner and sitcom reruns. She kicked off her shoes and whirled around to sit and remove her socks, grinning at the two peaceful little children on the ground. They had grown up too fast, and they were still only toddlers! She missed the grueling days of dealing with the twin babies, surprisingly. Davie was such a handful, but she probably worried more about Trent, who hardly ever cried. Sometimes she thought something was wrong, but as he grew up she saw that it was just how he was going to be. He'd be the shy one, the quiet one, while Davie would be the one begging for attention whenever he could get it. She knew it'd be fun keeping the balance between the two. She couldn't help but get excited about raising these two kids, since she had Griffin around to act as a father figure.

_Speaking of the father…no, no, don't think about him. He's not important. He's in the past; this is now, let's work with what we've got, Muffy. What we've got is Griffin's wine, and we need to find out where he ran off to…_

She went back into the front room and found Griffin behind the bar, reading out of a book. He was trying to mix a new drink.

"Oh, there you are! You weren't in here when I came in. I've got something for you," she said, producing the wine bottle and handing it to him. He set it down to the side,

"I've got something for you, too. Asher's son showed up today to take over the farm with Takakura," he said blandly, and let Muffy's mind finish his sentence.

"Awesome! That means Shepherd will be gone, right?"

"From the way I heard it, Shepherd's gone."

"That's great! I was starting to get a little afraid of that guy. Just a little, though. I could handle him if it came down to it."

"And if not, you know where I keep the shotgun."

"Of course. What's his name?"

"Archer. He moved here from the city. Do you know him?"

"No, I don't remember any Archers. Well, the night's still young; I could always pop by his house and welcome him to the city. He lives in Asher's old house, right?"

"Yes, but he had plans for the night, so he's not home. We can go there tomorrow morning, though."

"Fun. We should make him something, like a housewarming cake or something. We've got a bunch of chocolate and stuff in the back that I didn't plan on really ever using until the kids' birthday. And that's a few seasons away, so I'll get that started."

"I'll just give him some of this stuff I'm making. It tastes excellent, if I do say so myself."

"But you're also a fan of cheap beer."

"Drink of champions, Muffy. Drink of champions."

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Author Notes: Well, that took long enough. You know what else took a long time? Diao Chan's final level on Dynasty Warriors 6. That was so freaking annoying! And Lu Bu died! Three times! I didn't even know Lu Bu was capable of dying! And it wasn't even particularly hard; I just saved at a really inopportune time! Yeah, so, now that that's out of the way, look forward to another chapter in the coming days. My last couple of weeks has been largely planning Theatre stuff, which explains my absence.


	9. Early Birds

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. Nor do I own THE Harvest Moon. That would be quite the buy, and really would bring in no profit. In fact, I don't even think the moon can be sold. I mean, what would I do with it? Until we have cheap, reliable space travel, nothing really works with the moon, money-wise. I suppose I could sell the rocks to NASA.

Author Note: I read about The Dionaea House today and yesterday. Fun stuff. I'm curious about the movie they're making. Oh, wait, author notes are supposed to be about the story…um…well, a few people have been speculating in the review section that the woman that Archer knocked up in the prologue was Muffy. Now that I look at it, I do see the evidence, and there is quite a bit of it. But we'll have to wait and see. As for whoever asked if this is definite Archer x Celia pairing, I'm gonna give that a no. Nothing's really definite at this point. Other than Marlin being a dickhead.

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Chapter 8 – Early Birds

It sucked waking up at five in the morning to go jogging. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem for Archer. Though his schedule was typically highly erratic, he tried to stick to a tried and true method: early to bed, early to rise. He did, of course, have his party nights, his poker nights, and his general staying up late to watch late night comedy and films depicting women in compromising positions. A normal night for him, though, had him in bed by ten. This would only give him seven hours, one below the recommended eight for adults, but he felt more alive on a seven-hour night than on an eight. He couldn't explain it completely, other than chalking it up to individual body chemistry, but he attributed it to his twelve-hour nights as a teenager, during the summer. A waste of his life? Yeah, but it was a great idea at the time. He could say that about a lot of the things he did in life, but they were all a great deal of time in the past. And now that he was living a completely new life, they were as trivial in his mind as could be.

Though a less-than-average sleep night was better for him, one far less than average, like the two-hour night he had just had, was incredibly bad. He knew he was going to feel incredibly sluggish all day, and that wouldn't help him help Takakura farm. It also wouldn't help him try to learn how to farm. But he wasn't about to change his normal rising behavior because of one late night in the city. He had operated on less before, and it wasn't about to slow him down. Much.

When he left his house that morning, he was only half-surprised to see Takakura already walking toward the field. When the old man saw him, he acknowledged him with a nod and yelled in a voice barely audible from the distance they stood at.

"Well, I'm not going to have to teach you to get up at the break of dawn, then. That's good news."

"How was the rest of dinner?" Archer asked, and Takakura shook his head.

"The food was fine. Marlin and Vesta were both trading looks and Celia just sat there. I almost envy you for leaving."

"Almost. Well, I'm going to go for a jog. Want to join me?"

"Nope. I've got some stuff here I gotta do. I'll give you the day off today because it's your first full day, but if you get bored or I need help, I'll want you back here. Check in every few hours. You know where to find me."

Archer set off at a light pace and rounded the corner onto the town's main path. The sun was cresting the hills and lighting up peaceful Forget-Me-Not Valley in shades of orange, purple, and red. It was fairly picturesque, in a romantic sort of way, and the silence only broke with the fleeting sound of Archer's powerful footsteps pounding the dirt. Every once in a while he would hear a bird awake and begin singing to the wind, but that was the only sign of other life in the valley. Lights didn't stream from interior windows like they had last night, when he and Rock had ascended the hillside to Mineral Town, and from there to the city beyond. He plodded past a well and two houses on his right, spotting an odd-looking treehouse on his left as he climbed a slight incline, but slowed down as he came upon the looming form of a huge mansion. There was no path around it, so he was forced to turn back, realizing just how small the valley was. It would be a challenge coming up with a long enough route to keep him in shape without boring him. He made his way down to the beach, and while the sand offered nice enough resistance to vary the terrain slightly, it still didn't hold a candle to the stairways and sloping roads of the city. Another thing he'd have to get used to.

He hadn't seen this side of town yesterday, and he now saw the number of odd living spaces, for many of them could hardly be called houses. At the far end of town there was a very weird, very space age looking metal trailer down on the beach, and surrounding the house were piles and piles of scrap metal. Whoever lived there was bound to be a fun conversationalist. He also passed some form of tent-like lodge that, two weeks earlier, he would've known the name for because there was one in the novel he had finished then, and he was surprised to see someone awake and rejoicing in the morning dawn just outside the hut. He was wearing a strange green hat with a flower sticking out and had long hair, with a face covered in untouched brown hair. He was your average hippie, living in a valley close to nature. Archer turned his head and wanted to keep running, but he knew the hippie had seen him. He wondered if hippies minded being ignored, or seeing strange men in athletic clothing running across the beach so close to your home in a town where everybody knows your name. The hippie was waving, he noticed through his peripherals. Well, now he had to stop to chat.

"Hey there!" the hippie said, his eyes cloudy behind a pair of blue, incredibly circular glasses. It was odd, but in a strange way, this guy nailed the appearance.

"Hello," Archer replied, cool and casual, breathing naturally to avoid looking winded. He wasn't, so he shouldn't look like it, and it wouldn't help him give off the appearance of a strong-willed businessman if he did. Not that a businesslike demeanor would help him anymore. Not since he got fired. But his job had groomed him that way, and he wasn't about to challenge his own personality.

"You must be the new guy. My name is Gustafa. I own this yurt right here. Your name is Archer, right?"

_Yurt. That's what the word was. How does he know my name? _"Yes, I'm Archer. Nice to meet you, Gustafa. How did you know my name?" he asked pleasantly. He knew he hadn't met this guy, nor ever seen him, though he supposed one of the people in the Inn knew him and probably had talked to him about it. In fact, he was sure everyone in the city knew by now. Not that there were too many more people to notify.

"Ah, I was up watching the meteors last night and Nami came down to watch them too. We didn't talk much because she was down a ways from me, but when I left I made a point to say hello to her and she dropped your name after a little bit."

Well, this was certainly a curious situation. He had not met Nami either, but given her close proximity to Rock and the couple that owned the Inn, it was no wonder she knew about him. He was probably the big news in the valley at this time.

"Yeah, and your father talked about you a little bit, too. He said you were a big shot in the city and he was proud, but that's as much as he said about you. I didn't talk to him much, so big surprise there, huh?"

"Right," he said. This man seemed nice enough until he mentioned Asher. Through no fault of his own, Gustafa had just dropped on Archer's respect meter a few notches, but he didn't make it evident. In fact, he corrected it after realizing it was trivial. The man didn't know Archer, and in all of his experiences only thought that Asher and his son had at least a decent relationship.

_Oh, the lies that man could tell._

"Well, sorry to jet, Gustafa, but I'm in the middle of my morning jog. If I stop for too long, my heart rate will slow and it'll be for naught. Maybe I'll see you later," Archer said, and Gustafa nodded, turning to walk back to the yurt. As Archer jogged away, he heard the plucking of guitar strings from behind.

Until the rest of the town began to stir beneath their blankets, the morning was calm. On the last leg of his journey, Archer found that he had inadvertently entered into an impromptu race with another unfamiliar face. As Archer finished his jog and attempted to exit the path, having barely lost the race, his opponent stopped him and introduced himself as Wally. He noted the name and filed it away in his mental archive as he walked into his house to take a shower and prepare for another slew of introductions and interactions with the village.

He found it odd, though, that he would hear the doorbell ring halfway through his shower when he only knew a couple of people in the village. He turned off the faucets and stepped out into the living room, calling through the door for whomever it was to give him a minute. If it were Takakura, like he thought it was, then there would be no problem. He dressed quickly, not wanting to keep his guest waiting, and he opened the front door.

Standing on the other side were two people. One was Griffin, the proprietor of the Blue Bar. The other was a young, busty blonde wearing red and carrying a chocolate cake in her hands that dropped to the ground when her eyes settled on Archer. The cake splattered in the dirt and Griffin looked down, shocked, but his surprise could never mimic that of his companion, her jaw hanging wide open, her gaze unblinking. Archer looked at her quizzically. Why was she staring? Was it rude to open up the door without drying your hair in this valley? Was he not presentable enough for her, to the point of jaw-dropping inanity?

And then his expression changed into one that perfectly embodied his next thought.

_Oh, shit._

Read and review! You know you want to!

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Author Notes: I didn't read over the first ¾ of this chapter before finishing it off, and it's been a week or two since I wrote that part, so if it doesn't mesh well, it's my fault, but the point is the chapter is out. A few of my reviewers made the connection a little while ago about Muffy and Archer. There was quite a bit of evidence out there, and I'm glad some people picked up on it. Evidence such as…

Muffy naming one of her kids after the father (Trent Lacroix was the name Archer told her), the woman being blonde and in the city three years before the story takes place (IIRC, Muffy came to Forget-Me-Not Valley "recently" when AWL starts), the fact that I focused a little bit on Muffy and Griffin shortly before the revelation…you know, small things.

I'm leaving for Mexico on Thursday and I'll be back…sometime, but after that I'll only have a week or less to read two long books and write an essay for summer reading.


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